New Orleans Horror Story: Antichrist
by kataract52
Summary: Sequel to "Don't Fear the Reaper" and "New Orleans Horror Story". A demonic entity goes down South to herald the birth of the Antichrist.
1. Chapter 1

" _Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it."  
-John 8:44_

 **New Orleans Horror Story: Antichrist**

'I cannot begin to fathom why I record this. Perhaps I've retained more humanity than I realize. The urge to be remembered, to have one's thoughts immortalized is common among mortals. But I am at least two thousand years old.

'Where I lived, who I was, and how I died have long since been erased from my memory. My Master has that power. Indeed, I think he watches me as now as I write and plans to destroy everything: this document _and_ my memory of it. But perhaps after millennia of enslavement, I have at last found a sliver of independence. He hears my thoughts. He controls my actions. He lives through me and I, through him.

'Possibly I was a scorned lover who offered my soul in exchange for vengeance, but I only suggest this because I have an unreasonable tenderness towards fervent hearts turned bitter. Perhaps I was a great leader of men. Dying in battle, I may have offered my immortal soul for mortal victory and glory. This is the true process of our growing numbers. Legend says we are fallen angels; a myth perpetuated by my kinsmen who dream of unknown splendor. The truth is we have always been broken.

'On the past, I shall say no more.

'There is great reason to look forward to the future. Our victory is close at hand. Perhaps _that_ is what drives me to record all I've done, all I can remember: pride in my achievements and greed in taking credit. Perhaps I shall send this to Headquarters so my Master cannot steal what is rightfully mine… Assuming he does not destroy it first.

'Forgive me, excitement doesn't come easily and I find it difficult to contain. Let me begin at the beginning – or at least, the earliest I events I recall.

'Following my recruitment, I was assigned to oversee a tiny village in the Scandinavian tundra. The cold did not agitate me. Perhaps I was already familiar with the area or maybe I'd only known oppressive African heat and snow was a welcome change. There I go again, attempting to fill gaps that I know will never close.

'No one expected my assignment to generate much. We, the "fallen" ones, cannot touch or communicate with the living. Sometimes we whisper and they listen without hearing. Elements are easier to control. I wasn't given much to work with, but given time, I was able to increase the population while decreasing crop growth. When I encouraged them towards pillaging, they obeyed, and violence replaced their peaceful agricultural society.

'Nanna, a young maiden in this tundra, was my greatest accomplishment to date. I spent her youth stripping away her protectors and brought a handsome, selfish fellow to her door. When he betrayed her, as I knew he would, she attacked his village and slayed his family. The survivors retaliated and sprung a war. Innocents, children, cattle, and strong men were all slaughtered in glorious savagery. She'd taken the seed of pain I'd gifted her and reaped legendary woe.

'I requested – and was granted – permission to follow her bloodline, but none of her descendants presented the right temperament to repeat or even surpass lovely Nanna. Until now.'

There was a knock at the door. The Assassin known as Razorfist quickly closed his book, but not quick enough. Gris-Gris had opened the door without waiting for a reply and raised a brow at the odd scene.

"Keeping a diary or writing love letters?"

"Fuck off."

Gris-Gris threw a thumb over his shoulder. "Time to work."

'I am free to leave or possess Razorfist at will, and although he's aware of my presence, he dares not utter a word. He, too, fears my Master. With him I walk into the meeting room, where we know Bella Donna waits. This Matriarch of the Assassins Guild, descended from Nanna, carries all my centuries of scheming in her swollen womb.

'Her child is the pinnacle of all our work.

'All _my_ work.

'But Heaven is acutely aware of my actions and today three of their finest accompany her. The birth must be approaching. They cannot touch or guide her any more than I; they're only here to frighten me. If I dig into this baby too deeply, they will kill it. I must be very subtle. So I depart from my host and wait until he is alone again to return.'

…

'Sorrow, tragedy, strength and triumph are not the immediate consequences to the action one takes during life. Power and deficiencies pass from parent to child. And because like attracts like, spawn is destined to become an exaggerated version of its forbearers. This was how I spun together the Guild of Assassins.

'What is the dissimilarity between an army and a mob? My plans for the Guild did not disperse with tempers, but would extend across countries and generations. For that, I required a leader. A powerful, brutal, effective one.

'Before the creation of man – but after Heaven's legion – the Tyrant toiled with a great many beasts considered failures: giants among them. They were destroyed in the Great Flood. Somehow, one survived to become the immortal Candra. Perhaps they were all immortal; I cannot say. They lived well before my time. Or perhaps Candra survived in the womb of her human mother while her father and his failed ilk were massacred. At any rate, she survived and claimed the Guild for her own.

'My Master was displeased.

'" _You've given them too much power."_

'I was removed and stationed elsewhere, but on that, I can say no more. My memories of that time have been obliterated. I only know that when I returned, Candra was granting droplets of godhood to her favorites.

'Nanna's descendants, now called the House of Boudreaux, led the mortal members. Marius and his wife Louise had spawned two children, Julien and Bella Donna, who were as violent and mighty as their Vandal ancestors.

'The wife I poisoned with cancer. My aim was to drive Marius to madness, but the man was made of sterner stuff. His children, on the other hand, suffered devastation from her demise.

'If the pair created a child together, I knew it would be my crowning achievement in pure wickedness. The boy agreed. He was mad enough to lust after his sister, but not monster enough to rape her. I could not force his hand but her heart I could turn.

'Enter: a handsome, selfish fellow named Remy LeBeau.

'No youth I'd previously encountered had ever endured the heartache known to that boy. His mere existence was miraculous. I knew immediately what Belle would learn in future years – that a beaten beast always flinches from the softest touch. Why is a horse with a broken leg immediately killed? It may heal, but it will never carry weight again. It leans on the wrong things. Eventually, the beast is a deformed, demented burden.

'But a child yearns for mercy. And a young woman believes the sex between her legs can miraculously re-grow hearts that never bloomed.

'I watched as he found the center of her world; I watched her share it with him. I whispered _"trust him"_ as he destroyed her faith. I shall never forget the look in her eyes as she realized he'd betrayed and abandoned her. As the last of her innocence died, that pain was achingly precious and sincere – as it never would be again. Ever after, _she was mine_.

'Julien nearly killed himself trying to avenge his sister. On his deathbed, my Master offered salvation.

'Better he had died.

'The beast that emerged would never seduce his sister. He was ten times crueler and infinitely more hideous than his challenger; women are sensitive to these things. _That_ opportunity was forever lost.'

Razorfist set down his pen, flexed his hands, and then placed his book back in the desk. He'd written enough for one night. When he turned, he was startled to see a man sitting patiently on the corner of his bed.

"I've never known a _demon_ with a passion for stories," he said. The intruder had alpha male charm and an arrogant smirk.

"Know many, do you?"

"I know enough. I'm Ulysses… and I think you know why I'm here. What's your name?"

" _Christ-was-a-sodomite_."

His smirk tightened. "Let's play, shall we?"

A chessboard materialized mid-air between them.

"We both know how this ends," Razorfist said. "My Master is ever victorious and your Master destroys what he cannot conquer. Over and over, _tempus infinitum. Sic semper tyrannis_!"

"You're mistaken. I'm no one's servant. Heaven, Hell – you've boxed yourselves in with all your rules. Think of me as a liaison. I'm here to try and reach a compromise that pleases both parties. My only concern is the survival of the human race. Once upon a time, I _was_ one, and I still care about these people. So I'm here to offer what you most desire. What no one else can give you. _Freedom_. And in exchange, you leave the child forever."

Razorfist cracked his knuckles. "If you were capable of such things, we wouldn't play games."

"I can destroy you outright but your Master would simply send another. You defect and the system cracks."

"You cannot deceive an agent of the Prince of Lies. If I win, you must swear allegiance to my Master. If you win, I will accept what you call freedom and I call death. Watch how my kinsmen will flock to you. Not for their freedom but for your demise. Is this world worth the wrath of Hell?"

Ulysses accepted and moved first.

 _White pawn to E4._

…

Belle felt anxious and Remy wasn't helping!

That scoundrel. They'd known each other longer than anyone and she figured he couldn't surprise or scare her anymore. But lately that's all he did!

Last year, he'd suffered a… _life_ _crisis_ of sorts. His Death persona surfaced and his superhero buddies couldn't help. They didn't even _try_. She'd always been there when he needed her. Always would be. While she kept him sane, they learned how much they'd changed… And how much they _wanted_ these new people. She wished he'd been _anyone_ else. Falling in love with her ex was a literal waking nightmare. His daddy had said it best: " _My heart can't take this again"._

But he'd given her an incredible gift – something she thought would never happen at this point in her life – _a baby_.

Like all things from Remy LeBeau, this was a back-handed blessing.

She was now two weeks overdue in a blistering New Orleans August. She could've gone to a hospital for induction but didn't dare. Hospitals were run by dangerous doctors who gave dangerous drugs and asked dangerous questions. This LeBeau baby would come when he was ready and she'd have to suffer his selfishness until then. She should've been used to it by now.

Impending labor didn't frighten her (pain never did), but the last ten months had been full of change when she _should've_ been settling into a comfortable routine. Remy didn't want them to operate in the city limits anymore – "bad business", he said. He wanted them to work with government agencies for immunity; give back to the community; and reward talent over tradition. He was trying to take them back to the dark ages!

After all her hard work dragging the Guild to the cutting edge of criminal enterprise, he wanted a more _moderate_ organization.

And she'd _let_ him!

Now he was trying to convince her to deliver at a hospital. He knew how nervous that place made her! Hospitals were for the sick and dying – _not_ _babies_. She'd given in to all his other demands to keep him happy, but _this_ was where she drew the line.

Her belly tensed and the baby kicked against it.

Perhaps there was wisdom in laying low for the time being. The next few years would be preoccupied with child-rearing and she knew she'd be happier if she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder. But she didn't like it. A little voice (angel or devil?) kept reminding her that Remy had left many times, and one day he'd grow bored again. When that happened, only her _power_ could force him to stay… or make him regret leaving. Loving him was easy; forgiving herself for it wasn't.

Ten minutes later, another painless contraction preceded another kick from the baby.

"Buckle up, _petit_ ," she said. "We're just gettin' started."

 _White bishop to C4._

Ulysses appeared pleased with his "fried liver" attack. He did not play the long, methodical game favored by cosmic superbeings. Arrogance made him impatient. If he'd bothered to study the scenario at all, he'd already know his case was lost. Prophets had foretold this child's destiny: an agent of Hell, protected by Heaven, would herald global peace for seven years before pestilence, famine, war, and death followed in his wake. Why would Heaven safe-guard such horror? It would be honor-bond by Ulysses' defeat. And like a spoiled child that can't stand to lose, the Creator would destroy what he couldn't dominate. Prophets had foretold this, too. If Heaven honored anything, it was threats of violence.

Razorfist pretended to be concerned. "A recess?"

"Call me when you're ready." Ulysses said and vanished.

An unwelcomed thought crossed his demonic mind. What if this dashing, sacrificial lamb wasn't sent by Heaven after all? What if he'd been sent by his Master? Distracted, Bella Donna would be left vulnerable to his Master's influence. Would she agree to be his ward? Generations of loyalty could not out-weigh the Master's great charm…

He left his host and rushed to Belle's home, where she suffered in the beginning stages of labor. Her husband was there, too, and in a hidden corner of his mind, where he thought no one would venture, interred his own demon – _Death_.

" _Is it time?"_ Death asked.

" _No, not yet. Do you know my face? Would you know it from another's?"_

" _Why?"_

" _If I vanish, look to Razorfist for answers."_

Remy had his arms wrapped around her, supporting her through another contraction. She was still on her feet, but could no longer walk through them. When the next one struck, she groaned softly.

The demon leaned in and softly said, _"The more she suffers, the more she will love you."_

…

 _To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

'When chance next brought Remy back, he was in the company of a powerful young beauty. I disliked her instantly. Adjectives such as "heavenly" and "pure" are trite, but I believe they accurately described her. Thus, it may be called _ironic_ that her touch was once lethal, but as Heaven has ever been destructive, the trait is actually perfectly logical. She was not an agent of Heaven, but she shared their strong spirit. No broken heart would break her; no crooked power could corrupt her. "Rogue" was her name and I wanted her as far from my cherished ward as possible.

'Following the deaths of her tormented brother and beloved father, Belle inherited their bloodlust. Pain was her heirloom. As the last of her line, I had to prepare an alternate heir in the event she would perish without child.

'Remy was the logical candidate.

'My warmonger queen then – and periodically throughout the years – attempted to murder Rogue. The quest was doomed, but the true objective was to remind Remy of his duty. In this, we were successful. His heart remained tied to hers by the unbreakable bond of pain.

'Unfortunately for me, he welcomed another demon: the one called Death. Only those important to my Master are assigned guardians, so to avoid conflicting interests, I turned my eye elsewhere. But Death was young yet. And weak. When he requested my aid, who was I to refuse? We collaborated together and through painstaking patience, reunited our wards.

'Death must see what I see when I peer into the future: that their child will grow into a man of such clout and suffering that his flesh acts as a lightning rod for my Master.

' _The Living Devil._

'Remy and Belle both possess abilities of which most mortals can only dream. I cannot pretend power is inconsequential compared to spiritual sorrow, but misery is so sweet and enduring that I cherish it above all things. Death grounded me. He reminded me that in this realm, feeling is not enough. One must have supremacy to support it.

'Our union is as much responsible for this child as the union of our wards. It pains me to realize I may never see it come to fruition.'

…

Ulysses, tired of waiting, sighed: "Are you going to stall until the end of time?"

"Let this be a lesson, liaison of the Tyrant," said Razorfist. "Set terms when you contract my Master."

"Move or I'll consider the match null."

 _Black pawn to D5._

…

Gris-Gris crept into Razorfist's house knowing the man was away. He'd come looking for the letters. There was no doubt in his mind that the new recruit was sending intel to rival Guilds. Before Marius died, he'd made Gris-Gris swear to protect his only living child. It had been many years since Bella Donna needed anyone's protection, but she was in labor and more vulnerable than ever. She couldn't deal with a traitor, too. So her godfather would act as her father in his place, rest his soul.

On the second floor, down the hall, inside the master room, the enormous body of William Scott aka Razorfist was hunched over a desk: writing furiously.

Gris-Gris withdrew his sidearm, Scott flinched, and a round blast through his skull. The man slumped over, leaving the older man free to read the memoires of the demon. He soon wished he hadn't. Either Razorfist had been insane… or Belle was about to birth the Antichrist.

Unbeknownst to Gris-Gris, William shared the identity of Razorfist with his twin brother, and when Douglas returned home, he had two corpses in his house.

…

Ulysses observed the board and grunted, "Good move." He leaned back. "Tell me, what will you do if this child _isn't_ like his parents? What if he wants to be a superhero like Rogue?"

A cockroach-clicking hiss was thrown at the table.

"Don't like _Rogue_ , do you?"

Two voices – one young and one furious – roared, "Speak her name again and I'll tear out your fucking throat!"

"Let this be a lesson to _set better terms_ , slave."

…

Tante Mattie furiously knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again and again until someone finally answered.

"Why're you here?!" Razorfist snarled.

She stood to her full five feet. "Heard gunfire. Knew you wouldn't call for police and y' can't call Belle. Thought I'd stop by and make sure wasn't no one hurt."

Blank, hungry eyes searched for a fight. Tante Mattie was alarmed, but before she could react, he told her to leave and slammed the door shut. He rubbed his face. It was a calculated risk: letting her live. If she never reached Belle's house, the laboring mother would be forced to seek a hospital, which she would need to deliver safely. Letting the midwife live meant Belle would stay at home… where she would die.

Ulysses hadn't been expecting that gambit. He carefully considered his next play.

 _White King to D1._

…

 _Manhattan_  
It was destined to be an extraordinary day of ordinary standards. When Rogue, recently returned to the X-Men fold, decided to host a reunion dinner for her old Unity Squad, she kinda knew something would ruin it. A villain would attack. Or the world would end. Superheroes tempted fate when they made concrete plans. So imagine her disappointment when _literally_ nothing happened.

Twenty minutes before dinner, she finally broke down and bought some food. Last-minute text messages assigned dessert, appetizers, and salad to Wade, Pietro, and Alex respectively. Nathan had never RSVP'ed so she didn't know if he was coming or not; and Jericho would have difficulties enough finding Rogue's penthouse without having to find a store, too. Apparently, voodoo magic was less sophisticated than Google maps.

Cable arrived first – with a _plus one_ , no less. Rogue had so rarely seen Emily, the Inhuman also known as Synapse, outside of her work uniform that she didn't recognize her at first. She was blindingly beautiful. Rogue instantly felt underdressed, but she hadn't had all day to beautify. Yeah, that was her excuse: party planning.

"Come on in," said Rogue, opening the door. "Glad Ah didn't ask you to bring food, too, since you had to stop for your date."

"Not _his_ date. _Mine_." Pietro zipped inside, holding a veggie platter. "Where shall I put this?"

Rogue looked around, slightly lost. He sighed impatiently and then zipped around, stringing up Christmas lights and paper lanterns.

"How considerate," Emily tucked a lock of her long, black hair behind her ear.

"That's me!" He smiled as he dramatically opened the balcony door for her.

Rogue hid a chuckle. Now that they were no longer teammates, Emily and Pietro were free to pursue whatever they wanted. Rogue didn't know the details and she didn't really care to. But it was comical to watch two seasoned adventurers regress to blushing innocents in the flush of new love.

She tried to shut the door but someone pushed it back.

"Hey, honey!" Wade greeted. "We have a baby yet?"

Now it was her turn to blush. "Wha- Ah-"

"Calm down, everyone, I'm shooting blanks," he told the room at large. "I meant _Gambit_. Didn't you say his wife went into labor? I thought we had to have an apocalypse every time a new mutant was born."

Yes, Bella Donna had entered the first stages of birth two days ago. Remy sent a text message and Rogue still hadn't received an update. With a new baby boy, he wouldn't have much time to remember her, and never knowing when he might be sleeping, she never followed up with a noisy call. But she didn't want to share all this with the team.

She simply said: "Ah may have missed the group text, but I _definitely_ would've noticed an apocalypse."

Emily raised a glass. " _Salue_."

Conversation easily turned to Pietro's daughter, Luna; and Nathan's daughter, Hope. Rogue was glad that they didn't immediately start discussing work. She hated those conversations. A little later, Alex and Janet arrived; and well into dinner, Jericho finally arrived, dazed and irritated from getting lost in Manhattan. Apparently, he became _very_ animated when agitated. Rogue had never heard him talk as much as he did that night. The party was relaxed, cheerful – a success.

Emily and Pietro, the first to leave, promised to host the next event. (They were _living_ together? It must be serious, then.) Jericho asked them to drop him off at the metro (afraid of getting lost again), and although it _couldn't_ have been what Pietro _wanted_ , he wouldn't lose face in front of his lady.

Alex couldn't hold a light-hearted conversation. Everything quickly turned to Scott, Scott's death, Emma and Emma's disappearance. Finally, Janet decided he'd had too much to drink and called a cab.

Nathan stayed for ages. Not that Rogue _minded_ , but she was looking forward to getting some time alone with Wade. Without Hope, Cable had no reason to rush home. No one to talk to. It was pitiful, really, so she let him stay until after midnight.

When he finally left, she closed the door and sighed. "Ah've been holdin' that fart in for forty-five minutes."

"That's why I love you!" Wade laughed.

Maybe he'd meant it as a joke… Maybe he'd meant it platonically… but saying 'I love you' spoiled the night and she asked him to leave.

When had their relationship gotten 'I love you' serious? Again, maybe it'd been a joke… It probably was… but it was serious enough that she cared. She didn't want to care. Things were supposed to be light and easy with him. That's what had attracted her to him. If things got serious… did she still want it?

The glorious thing about Manhattan is there's _always_ a distraction. She should've gone to see a movie or hit a bar or flown overheard for the unbeatable view. Instead, she ended up drinking alone in her penthouse, digging up old ghosts. Cody, the boy she'd accidentally put into a fifteen-year coma before his death, still had a sister living in Mississippi. Rogue never called as much as she said she would. And Irene, if she were still living, would be ninety-five this year. Mystique resented that Rogue never visited her grave, but it was too painful. Of course, she'd been to Xavier's – _once_ – but she still hadn't made her peace. She'd gone to tell him how much he'd meant to her… Why had she never told him during his life?

Better question – why was she getting drunk and thinking about this shit?

She left the penthouse and went for a flight. It was slightly chilly but clear. This high up, she always had to be aware of planes, but this time she could relax and let the lights below blur together while she soared.

Remy was a father now. _Worse_ , he shared this baby with his childhood sweetheart and ex-wife. Well, they weren't exes anymore – it was such a trashy soap-opera.

The man she loved didn't exist anymore. Deep down, she had always known they'd end up together. She never doubted his love for her. That confidence had really screwed her over. While she was out sowing her wild oats, he'd given up. He was _supposed_ to move heaven and earth to prove his unshakeable, unconditional love. Wasn't that what _love_ did? Whenever he'd faced a challenger for her heart, that's what he'd always done in the past. The rules hadn't changed; he had.

She thought she could drive him mad with jealousy. Instead, she'd driven him away. He pretended not to care. She returned the favor when he said good-bye. Did he expect her to _beg_ him to stay? Was he waiting for her to come _crawling_ back? That's not how they worked.

She kept waiting for her Remy to re-appear and softly say: _"What're you doin', chere? Aren't you tired of all this yet? Come home. I miss you…"_

Instead, he'd said those words to his _other_ ex.

 _Traitor_.

And _of course,_ Belle took him back. She never put any demands on him, so he left everything – the X-Men, New York, and Rogue's backburner – to go back home. That wasn't love, it was _convenience_! Rogue waited for Remy to come to his senses, but he and Belle had turned into New Orleans's power-couple: flipping properties and re-vitalizing the area (which also worked to launder their illegal finances). According Rogue's math, Belle had gotten pregnant almost as soon as he moved back. She'd trapped him. So she'd gotten her man and he got to play modern-day Robin Hood and it was all so perfect that Rogue wanted to barf.

But she didn't know if he was happy. Maybe it'd been an accident and he felt honor-bound to stay. Maybe he missed her as much as she missed him. He didn't tell her anything anymore. Hell, she only found out he was going to be a daddy when his wife needed help rescuing him from Purgatory.

Yet for some reason, she kept expecting him to call and say he'd made a mistake. It was surreal trying to envision a future _without_ him.

Which brought her to Wade…

Was she keeping him at arm's length because she thought Remy would want her back? That was cruel. Wade didn't deserve to be her silver medal. And she could never make things work with Remy before; why did she think that would change? If she knew she'd never love Wade, perhaps this was the time to say so…

The problem was: she knew she'd never love anyone like she loved Remy. But he'd moved on and she didn't want to be alone…

Back at the penthouse, she saw two text messages from Remy. The first was a picture of a fat-faced newborn with the caption: Pax. 9.5 lbs. 21". Then – the words she'd longed to hear – _'Are you up?'_

It was 3 am but when she called, he answered.

"Congratulations, daddy," she said.

He laughed sharply and asked, "Got a minute?"

"For you, sugah, I've got several."

"I didn't forget to text you. I know that's what you think… He just got here."

"Jesus, she labored this whole time?" Secretly, nothing thrilled her more than the idea of Belle in agony. Hopefully she pooped herself, too.

"Contractions started a couple nights ago," he said. "She wanted t' deliver at home so we waited till morning t' call Tante Mattie. By then, they were comin' every few minutes. Kept up all day and night but she wouldn't go to the hospital."

 _Uh-oh._

"He went into distress so I _made_ her go. Practically carried her. And you _know_ how I feel about hospitals. They did an emergency C-section but … It all happened so quick. They couldn't stop the bleeding, said she could bleed out."

Rogue covered her mouth and slid to the floor. Things like this didn't happen in the 21st century. Her heart hammered in her throat.

"They had to take her – she'll never have another baby," he said thickly. "I'm lucky to have this little guy."

"Is _he_ okay? You said he was in distress."

"No. Yeah. No, he's fine."

"Is _she_ okay? …Remy? Please tell me she's alright."

He'd turned the phone away from his smothered sobs.

"I'm on my way," she said loud enough for him to hear.

…

 _To Be Continued.._


	3. Chapter 3

_New Orleans  
Black king to D6._

Razorfist waited for Ulysses to acknowledge defeat, but the so-called liaison seemed determined to play the game until the bitter end. How long could he postpone? Days? Generations? Drops in the ocean of deep time.

He didn't seem concerned.

"There was a boy once," said Ulysses. "Do you remember?"

"The one Heaven demanded be sacrificed by his father's hand?" Razorfist flippantly replied.

"No. The one your ward killed."

"You've been deceived. Bella Donna has never taken a child's life."

"A child in a man's body then… You remember _him_ , don't you?"

 _Flaxen hair had fallen onto a cold hospital pillow. The occupant was gone, but the impression of his head remained. A nurse ripped away the pillow case and the hair fell onto her shoes. Outside, the wind carried it to the currents of the Mississippi River._

Ulysses smirked arrogantly and said, "Let's talk about _him_."

…

Rogue flew to New Orleans with images of Belle bleeding to death in her head. Alone in the operating room. Doctors, covered in blood, pumping chemicals into her; trying to make her heart beat again. And she was _alone_.

If she could turn back time, Rogue would've taken her to the hospital immediately. Why had Belle been so damn _stubborn_? What had her newborn baby done to deserve this?

The guilt was overwhelming. Rogue had wanted Remy to herself… But not like this. _Never_ like this.

The staff tried to keep her out of the ICU, and her reaction nearly got her arrested. A little patience might have done a better job, but all she could think of was Belle: dead and alone; Remy: heart-broken and alone; their son: crying and alone.

Finally, Remy found her.

"Anna? What-"

She wrapped her arms around him, where he stood stiffly until she released him. "Ah came as fast as I could."

"I apologize for callin' you like that. Sleep-deprived Remy ain't a smart man. Come on, I'll take you to see her."

"You mean she isn't – she's okay?"

"She just came to. Woke up thinkin' he didn't make it and panicked. I kidnapped my own son from the nursery so she'd calm down. Did you know they have alarms now? Nurses will be glad to see the back of us."

Inside the Spartan room, Belle wasn't dead although she wasn't much better. Pax was fine, too. He was bundled up in a plastic bed beside his mother, staring at her as if she was all that mattered. His little mouth opened and closed sweetly.

Rogue let out a sob. She couldn't help it. "Ah thought you were _dead!"_

Belle looked over, annoyed, and then turned her attention back to the black-eyed infant she was too weak to hold.

"Sorry I worried you," said Remy. He stroked her back and she nearly collapsed in her arms. But before she could, he moved to Pax and lifted him from his plastic pen. Beaming, he said, "This is what life's all about, ain't it? Whole reason I was put on this planet is right here. Look at 'em."

"I think you're in love, chere," Belle said, and the way he smiled at her left Rogue in no doubt that he was.

The old spiral-cord telephone beside Belle's bed rang. Remy's father, Luc, had arrived and was waiting out front for the code to enter.

"Can't have more than two people in here," Belle said.

Rogue hugged herself. "Ah should go. He's family. Ah should go."

"No, you just got here," said Remy. "Stay for a minute. I'll fetch him, give you some time."

"Ah can come back-"

"What's the matter? You don't like babies?" He joked as he left.

The door closed and Belle said, "Remy likes t' be helpful. Let him."

She didn't know what to say, so she asked: "How ya feelin'?"

"Like a _whale_ sat on me and my insides blew out. You smell like _liquor_ … Don't touch my baby till you wash your hands."

"You smell worse. Wait here, I'll get a bucket."

She laughed, grimaced, and grabbed her stomach. " _Merde_ … that hurt… Why're you here, Rogue? Did you come to gloat?"

"I thought you were dead."

"Couldn't wait for him t' get me in the ground before you swept in?"

She clenched her hands into fists. If she hit Belle, she might never stop. "I'm sorry I upset you by comin'."

In the hallway, she ran into Remy, who couldn't understand why she was leaving in such a hurry after she spent so much time getting there. He sent his father ahead and then wrapped an arm around her.

"Belle said something, didn't she?"

She took him in her arms. God, he felt so good, and she waited for him to settle into her embrace. He didn't.

"You can't take it personal," he said quietly. "Trust me, she's spent the last few days sayin' hateful things to me, too. She's scared, Anna, and jealous - you can't let it get to you."

"Why's she jealous?" She hoped he'd say _'because she knows what you meant to me'._

Instead, it was: "Because you're strong. And beautiful. And you can still have as many babies as you can stand. She's got none of those things right now."

She scoffed. "She's got things I want, too."

His face softened. Leaning towards her, he said softly: "Will you stay with us for a few days? We're exhausted. Tante Mattie's exhausted. And Belle's gonna need caring for… Please. I know she's prickly but she really does like you. Aren't many people I'd ask to do this."

"Ah can't tell you no."

His smile was worth the cost.

…

None of them had reckoned that nursing was such an intimate act. Once home, Belle needed help keeping her stitches clean, nursing Pax, changing her bloody panty-liners, bathing and everything else. Remy tried but he was hopeless, and after four sleepless nights in a row, he couldn't care less about brushing Belle's hair. Rogue did her best to keep her happy.

On the second afternoon, Rogue was reclaiming some much-needed sleep in the guest room when a man shouted _'wake up!'_ in her ear.

She started. The room was empty and brightly lit. Stumbling, she rushed into Pax's nursery and saw a man standing over his crib. He looked up – red and black eyes – and she rushed towards him.

He raised a hand.

She froze. "You son of a-"

"Please, Rogue. Don't you remember me?"

"Ulysses? Ah remember you alright! You're that damn Inhuman pre-cog who caused so much trouble. Thought you ran off to Oz?"

"It's true, I was recruited to join the Beyonders. But I've returned to save the world. I know you don't want to believe it, but this child will lead to the destruction of your universe. Only his death can prevent it. So we have two options… End it now. Or wait and risk losing everything."

"Get away from him!" She struggled against his telepathic hold but couldn't break free.

"Here, take my hand. Look into my mind and see what I see."

He crossed the room and placed his hand in hers. She gripped his hand for dear life, refusing to let go. He fell to his knees as his essence filled her mind.

"Oh god, no," she whispered.

…

"Checkmate," said Razorfist, claiming the white king.

Ulysses still wasn't concerned. In fact, he looked smugger than ever.

"Congratulations. You've won! I believe I owe your Master an oath of loyalty. Why don't you summon her so I can pay up?"

He called out, but the space once filled by his Master echoed coldly.

"I don't understand…"

"Her name," Ulysses said. "Try calling her by _name_."

Razorfist closed his eyes and concentrated. The name sat of the proverbial tip of his tongue… It was ancient. Sacred. It was… _Candra_.

Stolen memories and missing pieces flooded his mind. The immortal, amoral giantess who granted samples of godhood to her chosen few had long been his Master… Or had it been so long? She was dead now, so she was clearly _not_ immortal as advertised. But she'd chosen him to share in her great power… Hadn't she?

 _Cody Robbins lay in the same bed for fifteen years. Comatose since childhood, he was a boy in a broken man's body. His life wasn't enviable, but it had been_ _ **his**_ _until she stole it. He could've forgiven his family for mercifully ending it, but that's not how he died. He was murdered by a woman he'd never met. Because she wanted to hurt Rogue. Cody – for half his life – had been at the mercy of lethal women. The injustice was unbearable, and he swore to trade anything for vengeance. Candra agreed. Then she took the only thing he had left: his memories. She, too, had used him mercilessly. After her death, his thirst for revenge returned and drove him to New Orleans._

"Simple words weren't enough," said Ulysses. "I had to help you understand… The false memories of Nanna and demons and the Antichrist – all spun by Candra to manipulate you. Now you remember, don't you?"

"Yes… I remember… But it changes nothing."

The silent, invisible ghost slipped from his host and into the LeBeau nursery. Rogue was still there and felt him. Thanks to Ulysses' memories, she knew what the phantom wanted.

"Cody?" Scanning the room, she stood protectively in front of the crib. "Listen! When you died, your soul crossed over. Ah saw you. We went home and you were at peace. What Candra saved – this isn't _you_ – it's only your _anger_."

The newborn behind her screamed furiously as his body was possessed.

She reached down and caressed his tiny, soft cheek. For most of her life, Rogue had been unable to control her powers, but she was no longer a bumbling novice. She was able to pull Cody's personality into her mind while leaving Pax unharmed.

The boy she'd once loved was gone. What remained was a corpse crawling with fears, frustrations and regrets, and Rogue wouldn't hesitate to destroy it… but she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Together, they stood on the banks of the Mississippi, where his granddaddy taught them to fish. But the sun was grey. The water turned dark as it rushed past Cody's feet. And just behind them was a mangled, dead oak baring the face of every personality Rogue had ever consumed. He had poisoned her memories.

" _Ah'm sorry about what happened to you,"_ she said. _"But this baby had nothin' to do with that. You wanna blame someone? Blame me. Better yet, blame_ _ **Belle**_ _– she's the one who did it!"_

" _I'll do more than that. I'll haunt her every day for the rest of her life in her child's skin."_

" _Not while I'm here."_

" _Gee willikers, Rogue,"_ he said with mock-sweetness. _"I don't wanna hurt you. It's only_ _ **my fucking life**_ _!"_

His fury erupted, filling her with burning indignation. Everything he _had_ and _was_ and ever _would be_ had been taken. As long as he lived inside her psyche, he could make her feel his impotent fury as if it were her own. He knew it would devastate her.

Once the torrent faded, she retaliated with her own. He hadn't reckoned she – or anyone – could live with that much pain and not be corrupted by it. But she, too, had agonized over his fate. She resented her own flesh, which had hurt so many and denied her physical contact with the man she loved. She'd been heartbroken and rejected. Cody thought that since she'd lived, she'd never been destroyed… That wasn't true. Her deep sense of injustice burned white-hot, but she used it to fuel her mission: the pain didn't control her.

" _The world's full of people like Candra,"_ said Rogue. _"Promise you the moon and don't deliver a single city. And people like Belle, who hurt the weak just because they can… I'm in no place to judge. How many people have I hurt? How many promises have I broken?... Most of the time, what we call evil is plain selfishness."_

" _You're defending a murderer."_

" _Ah'm defenin' a ghost who came here to kill a newborn! Don't kid yourself into thinking_ _ **you're**_ _a better person. Anger has a place, Cody. Let it go."_

Bitterly, he lunged with raised fists. She slammed him into the river and held him there for several violent minutes until his face went slack. Then his body turned to ash and washed away.

…

Baby Pax was the best thing in New Orleans, and after Rogue saved his life, she was graciously elevated to "Tante" status. (Also, Belle offered to eliminate any three people of Rogue's choice, but that was a favor she never intended to call.) She felt lucky – which was a strange reaction to this tawny-haired, black-eyed, frog-like creature.

They were rocking in his nursery when Wade called.

"So we have a baby or what?" he asked.

"Yeah, Ah'm feedin' him now."

"You need to go?"

"No, Ah'm gettin' good at juggling this kid and doing other things."

"Why? I thought babies _slept_ all the time. Like cats. Hey, you know what we need? Not a baby and I'm allergic to cats, so don't get any ideas."

"I'm comin' home tonight. Wanna go out?"

"Dinner and a movie?"

"Actually," she set down the bottle and moved Pax to her shoulder for burping. "I was hoping we could stop some evil-doers. After being cooped up with my ex and his current, I _really_ need to punch someone."

"That's why I – uh, think you're awesome!"

"Wade, I like you, but-"

"Say no more."

"No, listen, I need to say this. I don't love _you_ but I hope we can still see each other. The one I love… He hasn't been mine for ages but I've been clinging to the past. It's finally startin' to sink in that he ain't comin' back. There's a lot I'm gonna have to change or else… or else I'll turn into a bitter hag who destroys innocent lives to avenge my past. I don't know how long it'll take – and it ain't fair to ask you to stick around while I sort out all this shit – but I hope you do."

Pax rubbed his tiny face against her chest.

"No sweat," he said, "To be perfectly honest-"

"Are you ever anything _else_?"

"-if Bea Arthur was still alive, _you_ wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell."

…

Remy decided to take advantage of Rogue's graciousness before Belle drove her away. Sending Razorfist across town, he broke into the Assassin's house. No one had seen Gris-Gris in a couple of days, and Remy feared the worst. If anyone inside the Guild planned a coup, they'd never have a better opportunity. That was _partly_ why he'd asked Rogue to stay. He didn't know why, but he had a hunch Razorfist was involved.

Inside, he found no blood; no evidence of a struggle. Instead, he found a diary.

'Mortals crave companionship and independence, equality and yet superiority, reason without risk. These contradictory desires once bewildered me, but I've discovered the ultimate goal is _comfort_. What gives them ultimate comfort is logic, even when it is _flawed_ logic. This rings true to me. The longer I have served my Master, the stronger my need for rationality, which I record now to discern any fallacies.

'My craving to be near my ward and her spawn could be interpreted as fondness. Protectiveness, conceivably. And yet, the ultimate goal of their existence is death and the death of their world. Such destruction would guarantee my demise as well. Why should I safeguard such a thing?

'I do not count myself among the condemned souls languishing eternally in my Master's service. On the contrary, I delight in exploiting mankind's malevolent nature.

'How clearly I see the contradictions upon reflection.

'Although I am happy, I am enslaved and will be until my Master is no more. I desire the will to choose more than immediate pleasures from obedience, and I know (perhaps I've always known) that such freedom exists for me only in the abyss of eternity. _Mors mihi lucrum_.'

…

 _The End._


End file.
